


When all seems lost

by VioletSauce



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Neglect, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jason-Centric, Reconciliation, cursing, hopeful, not too sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 08:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14849190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletSauce/pseuds/VioletSauce
Summary: Jason is thirteen and he’s looking at himself in the Robin costume. He looks at it and remembers his mother telling him, “Hope, Jason. This story is about hoping for the better, always, no matter what happens. Even when all seems lost, you must remember that it’s always darkest before dawn.”





	When all seems lost

Jason is eight and his mother is sick. It’s late November and the city is starting to feel the onset of winter, which means that their apartment is getting colder and money is becoming tighter. It’s cold and his mother is sick, so he has to take care of her and of their needs. She tells him that she needs to take her medicine but for some reason, it doesn’t help her recover, it only seems to make things worse. But Jason has been sick, too, so he knows that when you are really sick, you usually get worse before you start getting better. So he brings his mother food and water and makes her sit up and, sometimes, walk a bit. She’s always exhausted after that and falls asleep very quickly, and it’s so cold in their apartment that Jason has long since started sleeping next to her, so he goes to sleep together with her.  
He huddles close to her, curls up into her side and breathes in her unique smell that lately has become tainted with something that just feels wrong. Despite that it makes him feel safe, so he closes his eyes and thinks, “It’ll be okay.”

* * *

Jason is eleven and he’s been living on the streets for some time. His mother is dead, and he thinks about her all the time. Tries to remember what she looked, sounded and smelled like, but it’s getting harder and harder with each passing day. He only seems to remember how she changed‒ from a smiling, blooming young woman that appears in his earliest memories, the woman who sat down with him and let him hold the book they were going through open in his lap as she taught him how to read. To a cold unresponsive body that he came home to, that separated his life into “before” and “after”.  
Jason calls it that, the split of his life, because that’s how it always seems to happen in books‒ something happens, and the characters’ lives are suddenly not the same. Sometimes in a bad way, but usually in a good way.  
Jason thinks about books, tries not to forget them because those are good memories, always good. And he doesn’t have any books now; they take up too much space, cost too much and if he needs to move quickly, he’d have to abandon them, so there’s no reason to buy any in the first place.  
But he reminds himself, a little desperate, that books always have some kinds of happy ending, no matter what. He needs to believe that, needs to hold on to the hope that everything will be alright.

* * *

Jason is thirteen and he’s looking at himself in the Robin costume. He looks at it and remembers his mother telling him, “Hope, Jason. This story is about hoping for the better, always, no matter what happens. Even when all seems lost, you must remember that it’s always darkest before dawn.”  
He remembers because the suit is colorful, bright‒ hopeful. That’s what Robin has always been, hope for the better for all the kids in Gotham, long before Batman offered it to Jason. Robin is pure hope, for Gotham and Batman alike. Jason won’t say it explicitly, but he can see‒ Bruce is not the best at coping with the weight that he’s carrying around on his shoulders.  
And so, Jason jumps, flies and jokes around, trying to fix everything because he, too, hopes for the better.

* * *

Jason is fifteen and his whole body is pain. He’s lost all sense of time and direction, doesn’t know how much time has elapsed, how long he’s been here. Doesn’t have the brainpower to really listen to what Joker is saying because all of it is going towards the pain he’s feeling.  
He only has enough strength to think, “Batman will find me,” as another blow shatters the bone in his hand.  
“Bruce will come for me,” air is driven out of his lungs as the crowbar lands on his chest.  
“He will save me,” his right knee explodes, the pain is so crippling.  
“It’ll be okay,” his skull is caved in, the force that it took to shatter that bone reverberating through the rest of his head.  
Then Joker is gone, laughing that crazy laughter of his that Jason knows won’t leave his head for a while‒ if ever‒ but Batman is not there, he’s not found him, not reached Jason in time. And, looking at the bomb in front of him counting down at a terrifying pace, he realizes that he’s out of time.  
He closes his eyes and hopes‒ for the last time in his life. Hopes that Bruce will be okay, that Alfred will be okay. Hopes they will all heal without a Robin by their side. He hopes and he hopes and he hopes.  
And then he hopes no more.

* * *

Jason is seventeen and he’s drowning as the world is snapping back into place. He surges upward, out of the water, the green, drawing gasping breaths and forcing his heart to pump more blood. There is not much that Jason knows in his first moments, for all that his mind was restored to him, he’s still more emotion and instinct than sound judgment, especially since his memories feel all jumbled, all over the place. But he feels and with his mind back he’s aware of what he’s feeling. He knows rage, directed at everything and nothing all at once, fear, panic, love (love?) and something else, something so comforting but painful at the same time, something that tugs at his heart so hard it almost rips in into pieces.  
It’s not until later, when Jason’s finished reassembling his memories and taking control of himself, that he realizes that the feeling is hope. He squashes it ruthlessly. He’s no longer Robin. There’s no hope for him, not anymore.

* * *

Jason is nineteen and he’s driving down a road. He’s not particularly sure where he’s going‒ it’s the first time he’s in the States since he left it right before his death. He’s missed it, just the feel of his country, so he’s decided, earlier, to take a trip before he does anything else, remind himself of his nation before he comes to Gotham to enact his plan. He’s somewhere in Arizona now, going without much direction, simply ahead.  
He stops when he notices a man thumbing him. He pulls over, immediately taking notice of as many things as possible, because even if he’s not made his presence in the US visible yet, he has made enough enemies lately, enemies with great reach, enemies that can’t be underestimated. And Bruce, Ducra and Talia didn’t train him to be an overly trusting fool, that’s for sure.  
Jason exits his own car and approaches the man. He looks to be panicking, obvious by his pacing and a slightly frantic look in his eyes, and Jason attributes that to the obviously pregnant woman sitting in the car. She’s breathing shaky and irregularly, moans in pain once in a while; Jason is at her side immediately as he listens to the man ramble at him.  
“We’ve been driving to town, to the clinic, but then the car just broke down and I can’t get it to start no matter what and I called for an ambulance, fuck, for someone, anyone, but I don’t think they’ll come in time; you’re the first car that we’ve seen in the past half an hour and just, please, can you at least take her and get her somewhere that can offer help?”  
Jason doesn’t hesitate despite his better judgment, “I have experience as a medic. You mind if I examine you first?” he’s asking the woman who nods. Jason doesn’t waste time, he eases her back gently and starts asking her questions about her experience so far. When he’s done, he flashes her a smile, then rises and says, “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. There is a gas station not too far away, that’s where we’ll go. There I can deliver the baby.”  
“Are- are you sure? Can you really?” the woman asks, already exhausted.  
“Yes,” he immediately replies with as much confidence as he can muster because he needs to convince them to trust him with something very important and precious. Jason has never delivered a baby but he’s read how to, when he was a hopeful teenager and devoured every piece, every scrap of information he could get his hands on like a person possessed by hunger. “Yes, I can.”  
Then they get to the gas station and Jason immediately starts barking orders at the workers, scaring everyone in the building. He sets everything up as best as he can, considering the conditions, and then goes off of his memory of handbooks and educational videos.  
The thing is, bringing up this memory also brings up the when and how. For Jason, that’s what memories have always been‒ he doesn’t, can’t separate the knowledge from the situation. So when he remembers how to deliver a baby, he remembers exactly how he learned that. He remembers the library, the one armchair by the window that he used to curl on top of, the smell of thousands of other books in the room. Remembers Alfred, somewhere around, listening to Jason’s occasional exclaims of interest and commentary, answering his questions. Remembers the tea that he used to drink while reading. Remembers the hope. It always comes back, like he can’t get rid of it, can’t kill it like he’s done with everything else.  
But maybe, that’s exactly what he needs right now, because he starts giving the woman encouragements and telling her that things will be great. He wouldn’t have been able to do that if not for the memory. So he takes it, the hope, and passes it on to the woman and her husband, first in words, then in the form of a tiny newborn.  
Hope is like an infection, Jason thinks, later, when he’s once again on the move. It used to be a good thing, back when hope helped him and he helped others. Now, it only hurts, since Jason knows his hopes are futile, has known ever since the warehouse, the crowbar and the crazy laughter that, hope as Jason may, won’t leave his thoughts and nightmares.  
And like an infection it spreads.  
By the time Jason is ready to return to Gotham, he can no longer bring himself to follow the original ruthless plan. He stays away longer, rethinks everything and hopes, hopes.

* * *

Jason is twenty and it’s a quiet day. He hasn’t had many of those lately‒ it’s like the world has been going off the rails completely, seeing as there is a crisis just about every other day now. Jason is tired, hurt and wants nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep everything away. Except that when he does close his eyes, voluntarily, instead of just letting them droop due to exhaustion, he sees images of people he’s been too late, too slow, too preoccupied to save. It’s torture worse than Joker with a crowbar‒ Jason is a protector, after all, it’s the forefront thought in his mind as it has been for years now. And the last few days‒ they haven’t been kind to the innocents. And Jason’s stupid, goddamn awful memory doesn’t let him separate the information from the reality, making him relive not just the fact, but the sight, smell, sound, all of it.  
He’s tired, so so tired, he wants nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep everything away. He puts his head in his hands and tugs at his hair, hard, and just keeps repeating in his mind, “Please, please please,” unsure of what he is asking, begging for.  
He tries to close his eyes, again, but suddenly there is a bright light in the room and a computer-generated voice saying, “Jason Peter Todd of Earth. You have the ability to instill great hope.”  
The thing‒ the ring‒ slides on his finger before Jason even realizes what is happening. “All will be well,” the same voice says and Jason is pulled into a vision.

* * *

Jason is frantic and still shocked when he reaches the Cave. He looks around, marveling for a second at how much it’s changed; then his gaze lands on the glass case and Jason flinches away in revulsion.  
“Bruce?” he calls to the man sitting at the computer. Faintly he registers the absence of everyone else, something he’s subconsciously grateful for since his twitchiness subsides, if minutely.  
Bruce turns to see him, surprise obvious on his face and a second away from asking Jason why he is there in the first place, but Jason doesn’t let him, “Bruce, you need to call a lantern. And not one of the new ones, they probably won’t know how to deal with this.”  
Then he continues blabbering, something so out of character for him it takes Bruce by surprise so much he doesn’t stop Jason until he’s already three minutes into his explanation. “Jason… Breathe. Relax. You are not in danger.”  
That is somehow enough to get him to stop and breathe, even if it’s shaky and clearly not enough; Bruce is still grateful. He puts his hand on Jason’s shoulder as he runs the information that has already been given to him through his mind. A blue power ring. Hope. Jason is a Lantern now.  
Bruce is a planner, has always been, but this he could never foresee. At the same time, though, he thinks, it would make sense for Jason to get a blue ring. Jason, who has always been hopeful before anything else and the only one to hold onto that hope long after everyone else has given up. That’s exactly why he’s persevered through everything that’s happened to him and came out even stronger.  
Jason continues breathing as Bruce sits him down in his chair, as he reassures him that everything is okay, as he excuses himself to make a call to someone who would figure out how to pass a message to Jordan or Stewart or, hell, even Gardner‒ anyone, really.  
He reaches Simon and tells him only that there is an emergency and they’re in need of a Lantern that is in touch with the Corps, and nothing more. Nothing about Jason because nobody needs to know yet.  
With that over and done, he comes back to Jason. He’s still sitting in the chair and seems to have calmed down if his breathing is anything to go by. He takes long deep breaths and doesn’t seem to be in shock anymore, but he’s staring at his hand‒ at his blue glowing ring‒ like it’s doing something painful to him, like it’s a snake curled around his finger. For a moment Bruce worries that it has inflicted pain on Jason and he makes to ask, but then Jason’s head snaps up and he interrupts him mid-thought, “I don’t think I’ll be able to get rid of it.”  
And that‒ that’s not what Bruce was expecting him to say. He nods anyway because he knows power rings and knows that if it chose Jason, it did so for a reason.  
“And that means that I’m probably going to go off into space for a while,” Jason continues; his eyes are glazed over like he’s remembering something. “You know‒ this ring,” he holds up his arm and waves it in the air, showcasing the blue light, “when it slid on my finger‒ didn’t even ask me, the fucking bastard‒ it gave me some… vision. I don’t fucking know what it was, a memory or a future event. Maybe it just showed me something I wanted to see… But that’s not what matters. The point is, it gave me… something to think about.”  
“Oh?” Bruce is worried and tries not to show it‒ but Jason has always been the best at reading him of his Robins, so he probably fails. “What was is?”  
Jason runs a shaky hand‒ the one with the ring‒ through his hair and swallows very audibly, “It showed me the family‒ you, Alfred, Dick, Tim, Damian. Cass, Steph, Babs. Everyone, you know. And‒ and I was there. Like I belonged. Like I wasn’t the black sheep, like I was accepted and,” his voice drops off; he swallows again before continuing, now in a whisper, “it felt so… right. It felt amazing, to have you all back and to be back. And I thought‒ I thought maybe that’s it, that’s what I actually want.”  
Bruce is silent; he’s not sure he could speak now if he even had any words.  
“And now I might be going to space. And‒ and who knows if I’ll even get another chance. So I just‒ I just wanted you to know. I miss you all so damn much. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for ev‒”  
Bruce doesn’t let him finish; he falls onto his knees on the floor next to Jason as though his legs have refused to support him and he puts his arms around him. “It’s okay,” he says, soothing. “It’ll be okay.”  
“That’s what I say, asshole,” there’s a smile pressing into his shoulder but there are also tears. Bruce’s grip tightens.  
They sit like that for a while, just holding onto each other; it’s a miracle nobody comes down and sees them. They have a lot to say to each other but no words to put it all in, so they just hope to convey the message through contact.  
They hope and they hope and they hope.  
The ring on Jason’s finger, barely even noticed anymore, shines a soothing blue light that seemingly says, “All will be well.”


End file.
